


The Mood of a Prince

by twowritehands



Series: Bilbo/Thorin [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of our story Motive of a Hobbit, this one from Thorin’s point of view as they make their first camp…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mood of a Prince

**Author's Note:**

> part of our Hobbit series as we just get a feel for writing the characters and exploring the pairing

Thorin was glad to be putting the Shire at his back; a useless place of excess, softness and flowers, not to mention pot-bellied Halfling hill dwellers who offered no welcome for the likes of a dwarf.

A waste of time. 

True, there had been good food, a warm hearth… and a pleasant kiss… but such things were luxuries that the prince of a broken, homeless people could never afford to keep. His duty came first. His honor. A truly great king was selfless.

Perhaps, someday, when Erebor was finally freed of that evil beast, Thorin would be able to spend much of his day in the presence of someone like Mr. Baggins, some gentle soul with a spark in his spirit…

The thought of that spark brought a crooked grin in the prince’s beard.

Puffed up and prudish as Baggins might have been, there had been a great kindness in his eyes. Being a dwarf who spent years toiling away in the land of men, Thorin had long ago learned to treasure any face that held such eyes. True kindness was more precious than gold, for it felt like a little piece of a new kind of home, something that could never be plundered by fire drakes, something that he could always carry with him.

And that kiss… well, that kiss Thorin would happily carry, for the young Halfling had quite surprised him with a skilled tongue. Though why it had come as a surprise, the dwarf could not say; he should have realized that anyone who dwelt in a peaceful, uneventful place such as the Shire would have nothing better to do than eat, drink, and learn how best to pass the hours of a day. Pleasure must be to a hobbit what mining stone is to a dwarf.

This thought made the prince nearly reign in his pony as he turned in his saddle for a glance back at the Shire, supple hills like breasts and gentle breezes like shivering caresses through the grass...

“Second thoughts, son of Thrain?” Gandalf asked from the pony right behind Thorin where the wizard got a full view of the prince’s look back at Bag End before it fell out of sight behind the rolling horizon.

Realizing it was hanging open Thorin closed his mouth and scowled at the old wizard, focusing on the quest at hand and reminding himself of its importance over his own desires. “His kind would never survive.”

“His kind would surprise you at _every_ turn if you gave them the chance!” the wizard declared somewhat frostily. Thorin grunted, unable to argue this point which he had already so intimately learned. 

Lighting a pipe which glowed orange in the dim light of earliest dawn, Gandalf guided his pony alongside Thorin’s as the wizard continued in a much more languidly amused style, “which is why I left the contract with him.”

Balin gave a sharp exclamation from a pony up ahead and turned to gape at the wizard, “you left the contract? But we must have it for when we find our fourteenth member!”

“We have already found him,” Gandalf insisted. “He will catch us up before noon.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Bifor. “He kept on about not being up for it. And he’s not a warrior.”

“What? But I want him to join us!” Fili cried, “I liked him!”

“Yes. He had good food,” agreed Bomber.

“That’s because he’s a _grocer_ not a burglar,” someone else said.

“Gandalf says he’ll be useful,” piped up another voice.

“And he _will_ be, my friends. I assure you.”

“There, you see?” Fili said.

“Wizards have been known to be wrong,” Thorin growled at the young dwarf. “And ours puts too much faith in the Halfling. Of that I am certain.”

“Put some money on it, then!”

And thus the company commenced to placing bets. Thorin fell quiet, refusing to participate, mind falling back to that dark room and the warm rush of Bilbo’s breath from his nose, softening the coarse hairs on Thorin’s lips as their tongues slid together. The more he thought about it the more decided he became. Bilbo--or any hobbit--did not belong on such a perilous journey.

As their train of ponies carried them into wooded land, Thorin allowed his mind to fly into the future, for the first time going beyond Erebor’s restoration to all that he might do in his new, happy life. The duties of a king were many, the burden too much to carry alone. He would have to find someone to stand by his side and make him stronger, someone to bring him happiness and joy… 

Fuzzy pictures took shape in Thorin’s head. He saw rooms he hadn’t seen in decades. He saw himself in the vast chambers of the king, not alone but sharing the sheets with a slight figure; a spark in loving eyes, a button nose, round smiling face, and matching patches of soft curly hair on his head, his sex, and his feet. Thorin would be allowed full access to these places, to stroke them or kiss them to his heart’s desire… and the hobbit would teach him things, secrets in pleasure and flesh that only a hobbit knows.

Upon realizing the directions of his thoughts, Thorin destroyed the pictures instantly. Impossible. It would never happen. The trouble, of course, was the improbability that he would meet any other hobbits outside of the Shire, for they were certainly home-bodies.

“Wait! Wait! I signed it! I signed it!”

The hobbit came to a stop at the front of the company, breathing heavily from his impressive run, loaded down with a travel pack and the contract, which he brandished importantly. At the sight of the Halfling, the prince’s breath zipped back behind his lips, but he was not altogether surprised.

One look at the wizard proved suspicions wakened in that dark bedroom: this hobbit was much more than he appeared at first glance and _was_ the burglar for them. This did not altogether put Thorin in a good mood.

He squeezed his reins and looked elsewhere stubbornly. He would have Bilbo stay behind on this perilous journey, safe and sound where Thorin could find him again afterwards unscathed. The Wild would not possibly spare a domesticated hobbit, it left even the hardiest dwarves forever altered.

They gave the Halfling a pony, which he sat atop of as if it were likely to bite him, holding the reins in exactly the spot they had been when Gandalf had handed them off to the new rider. Thorin couldn’t watch it, torn in half between helping the hobbit and sending him home to wait for the glorious return of the king who desired him.

At first camp, the weary riders dismounted with groans and cries for food. Thorin ordered a fire and then chose the first shift for sentinel duty before turning to find that the hobbit was still on his horse, looking fairly frustrated. As the prince watched, Bilbo attempted and failed to capture the attention of every dwarf to hurry past the pony—all of them too busy to even hear the polite, soft spoken interjections.

The more and more he was ignored, the redder in the face and the more fidgety in the saddle Bilbo became. The pony, having forgotten it carried more than saddle bags (for the Halfling was no heavier or dominating than a bed roll) roved for grass, lowering her head to graze. The hobbit cringed and leaned away from the dropping pony’s neck, fighting the feeling that he would slide over her shoulders.

Thorin’s feet were carrying him forward before he knew it. Something simply had to be done before the Halfling hurt himself by jumping from a moving horse. Bilbo had twisted in the saddle to speak to any of the bodies swarming past him.

“Excuse me—will you—I say if it isn’t---whoa, stay girl. Stay. Someone could you—?”

Thorin closed his fist around the bridle, cutting off Bilbo’s polite pleas for attention and the pony’s dinner. The pony lifted her face, gave an indignant snort and pricked her ears. Bilbo whirled to see what happened and his expression broke into a smile as he looked down at Thorin. “Well, hello.”

Warm, pleasant things trickled under the dwarf’s skin, and he wanted to smile back but did not out of habit. He silently offered a hand. Bilbo’s soft eyes shone with thanks and he accepted it with a squeeze that could not have been his whole strength, for it was little more than a child’s grasp against Thorin’s thick knuckles.

Though he had only meant to hold the pony still as Bilbo dismounted on his own, Thorin reacted instinctually as if helping a young one. Releasing the horse, he pulled the hobbit bodily out of the saddle. Bilbo’s gasp of surprise was small, soft as something uttered in dark bed chambers, and he gripped Thorin’s shoulder as the whole of his weight left the horse and Thorin was reminded that this was a stout adult.

They stumbled half a step, Bilbo’s body falling against his, warm and plush and smelling of freshly baked bread even after a day on horseback. Thorin’s wits scattered like a cloud of bats spinning out of their cave for the stars. A terrifying moment of no control lived but in a flash before both knew the other to be safe and unharmed. Bilbo’s pointed hobbit ears were darker than usual, and he laughed a little weakly. “Whoops.”

“Apologies,” Thorin grumbled, stamping down hard on his own embarrassment to have offered help and then nearly dropped him. Neither realized they stood in the same space, or that Bilbo was not standing at all, his feet dangling loosely at the level of Thorin’s ankles once again, bodies still aligned and mashed, until gravity at last succeeded and pulled Bilbo straight to the ground. His big feet landed haphazardly on Thorin’s boots, and an awkward shuffle separated them.

For a time Bilbo stumbled around the camp as the others set up, seeming to prefer being in the way to sitting still and doing nothing. Bofur gently shoved Bilbo to one side so that he could lay a place for the fire under the outcropping of rock, and Bombur then bounced him promptly off his bulbous girth as he passed with saddlebags only for Bilbo to trip into Balin’s path who grunted in annoyance and fairly picked him up to toss him out of the way.

Thorin intervened here by catching Bilbo in the crook of his elbow and pulling him to the side. “Make yourself useful,” he grunted, not intending to sound grumpy, not intending to bark orders. He handed out an apple with a motion to the mounts. “Feed them.”

Bilbo took the apple, their fingers brushing more than necessary, as if the hobbit had intended to touch him. The fading light of day caught in Bilbo’s blue eyes as he looked up at Thorin with a smile and a soft, “Thank you.” However, when he’d reached the tethered mounts, he turned the apple in his fingers, seeming hesitant to extend his fingers towards the animal.

“They will not bite--hold the apple in the flat of your hand.” Without worrying to much why or if he should, the dwarf took the hobbit’s hand and held it out, flattening it in demonstration. The pony munched at the fruit and Bilbo jumped imperceptibly but laughed and moved nearer the horse, pulling from Thorin’s touch to give the pony a scrub on her wide nose.

For a moment in time, the dwarf forgot that the long planned, dangerous journey had begun. For a moment, he was young and free again, free to enjoy something as simple and pointless as petting a pony. His hand lifted to the mount’s head, and he combed once through the course mane before realizing his idle, silly train of thought.

There were things to do, no time for this nonsense.

Muttering under his breath, he stomped off to make himself useful. When Bilbo turned, smiling, he found himself alone, and his smile dropped.

|||

The moon shone imperiously in the black sky, the only thing the silver clouds could not extinguish. The company had gathered around the warm fire when the wild cry of the waugs penetrated the night. The blood in Thorin’s veins quickened and he reached for his sword automatically before realizing the sound had come from far off. He scanned the darkness, listening, waiting….

By the fire, conversation stirred up, and Thorin detected his nephew’s teasing tone trying to scare the hobbit. That would not do. Everyone needed to be well rested for tomorrow’s journey, and scary monster stories would not accomplish that, especially on the sheltered hobbit. Thorin stomped past the fire, reprimanding his nephew for joking about such real and terrible beasts.

He chose a new sentinel position at the fringe of camp and heard Balin’s voice drift his way. “He knows more than most,” the dwarf explained to Bilbo. 

Thorin kept his back to the company, but wanted sorely to turn about and snap at his oldest friend to shut his mouth. This story was for another time. The prince did not like to share the tender wounds of his heart until well after he had shared all the outer, physical things that two bodies could share first. But in a stripe of pure adoration and loyalty, Balin continued with the tale in only the way Balin could.

As the events of that fateful day were painted so vividly into the night, Thorin’s skin rose in chill bumps and his breaths quickened. He kept his back to the fire as if indifferent or deaf, but he could feel Bilbo’s eyes on him, boring into him like a drill into the stone.

“What happened to the white orc?”

Thorin’s voice was rough with anger and pain. “He slunk back into the hole from whence he came.”

When the prince turned, Bilbo dropped his face to the fire, eyes averted. The damage was done. The hobbit could not look at him now, too intimidated. Thorin tried to remind himself that it was for the best. If this quest was to be a success, then he did not need to forget what was important in favor of frivolous happiness— for it would not last (none of it lasted) without a place to call home.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and not sure about this ending, but it's the best we can do at present. Maybe the new movie will inspire more! (Still haven't seen it yet because my RL sucks, but can't wait!)


End file.
